


Let Me Put You Through the Floor

by shaenie, sharkie335



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Community: kink_bingo, Enemas, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Spanking, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/pseuds/shaenie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is a dirty slut.  Bruce needs to clean him up and then get him dirty again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Put You Through the Floor

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to cathalin for the fast beta!

Clint was bent over the back of the armchair, hands gripping the arms tightly, his dick half-crushed against the back of the chair as his chest rested on top of it. He wasn’t tied in any way, and the only thing that kept him in place was his own will. As far as Bruce was concerned, that just made it hotter.

Bruce paused for a moment, admiring how good Clint’s ass looked when it was red from spanking. Running his fingers over one cheek, he asked, “You like this, slut?”

Clint’s throat clicked as he swallowed hard, and then he said, “Fuck, yeah. Love it.”

“I know you do.” Bruce laid down another blistering slap. “You love everything I do to you, the dirtier the better.”

“Uh, huh,” Clint whimpered. “Mess me up. _Please_ , Bruce.”

He was so glad that the Hulk didn’t care about this, about the games he liked to play. It helped that he _liked_ Clint, they were friends, and this wasn’t about anger at all. It was all about sensation, about intensifying everything. 

He smacked Clint three more times, and then shoved two fingers up Clint’s slick ass without warning. Clint groaned, his hips jumping for a moment before he managed to get them under control. “Is there anything you won’t do for a fuck?” Bruce asked, sneering deliberately, harshly enough that Clint shuddered a little. “Anything that you would consider too much for getting my dick up your ass?”

“God, no,” Clint said, practically hyperventilating. “Anything you want.”

There were things that were off the table, of course. They’d talked about it, talked about their limits and their restrictions. But Bruce knew that for Clint, part of the attraction was the thought that Bruce might ignore those, might make him do something on the no-go list. There wasn’t much on the no-go list, really, but there were a lot of things that Bruce had discovered on the drive-Clint-insane-with-humiliation list.

He fingered Clint roughly for a minute, just enough to make Clint's hips start rocking with the force of it, before he pulled his fingers out. "You're filthy," he said. "I can't fuck you like this." Leaning forward, he grabbed Clint by the hair and jerked him away from the back of the chair, sending Clint scrambling for balance as Bruce dragged him, still bent at the waist, toward the bathroom. "Going to have to get you clean enough to stick my dick in you."

Clint hitched out a whisper from between his teeth, but didn't fight Bruce at all. He was half a step into the bathroom when he balked -- he always balked at bathroom time -- but Bruce just jerked him harder and Clint followed, dragging his feet but with no real intent to disobey. Bruce didn't worry about it. Clint loved to hate this part, and Bruce loved to watch him hate it. Already, Clint's expression was raw with humiliation, and it would only get better. 

"Get in," Bruce snapped, and Clint stepped into the roomy shower of his spectacular en suite bath. Bruce was secretly convinced that Tony had designed all of his bathrooms for this kind of play. How else to explain the six inch drain and the cupboards designed to hold all the paraphernalia that Bruce might want to use.

Bruce, his grip still tight in Clint's hair, shoved downward until Clint went to his knees. "Do I need the cuffs?" he asked, keeping his voice deliberately toneless. Clint flushed deeply; his hands were shaking. The cuffs were another thing that Clint loved to hate. He always wanted to succeed without them, but Bruce was privately sure that the cuffs were a comfort to Clint, an anchor when everything else was so completely outside of his control.

When Clint didn't answer for almost a minute, Bruce gave him a little shake by the hair. "Cuffs it is," he said almost cheerfully. Clint opened his mouth, eyes a little wide with an objection that he apparently couldn't bring himself to voice, and Bruce let go of him to open the bottom-most cupboard, dragging the chains out carelessly so that they clanked against the tile. He dragged the long length of the main chain to the bolt in the floor near the wall, and then dragged the attached cuffs up toward Clint. "Hands," Bruce demanded. Clint, looking dazed but still flushed and turned on, held them out obediently. Bruce snapped the cuffs into place, not so tightly that they'd bite into Clint's wrists unless he struggled, and then ran his hand lightly through Clint's slightly sweat-damp hair. "I'll get you nice and clean, and then I'll fuck you until you're filthy again," Bruce murmurs. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Clint gave an all over shudder and shut his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. "I want - I want _that_."

"Eyes open," Bruce ordered, knowing that watching Bruce get the stuff ready would be an agony for Clint. When Clint didn't immediately obey, he tightened his hand in his hair. "If you don't behave I'll have to punish you, slut. Is that what you want?"

Clint shook his head slightly, but his eyes stayed stubbornly shut. 

While Bruce wouldn't have objected if Clint asked for what he wanted, that just wasn’t the way that Clint operated. And he didn't mind at all. "The large bag it is," he said, pulling his hair hard. "If you don't obey, I'll use the large bag and make you hold it until you get me off with your mouth. Is that what you want?"

This time, the headshake was more defined, and Clint opened his eyes, looking up at Bruce with barely concealed lust and panic, mixed.

"That's a good slut," Bruce said. "I'm going to go get ready. If I look over and see you looking away, that's what I'll do. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Clint said, his voice a glorious mess. "Yes, I understand."

Releasing his grip on Clint's hair, Bruce returned to the cabinet and started pulling out the enema kit. Carrying the bag to the sink, he set the water temperature and started filling the bag, glancing over periodically to make sure that Clint was obeying. He was pleased to see that while Clint was fidgeting on his knees, his eyes were open and he was watching Bruce carefully.

It didn't take the bag long to fill. It was a big bag, but really it was only a big bag for Clint. Bruce had hopes that they'd eventually graduate to something bigger, but he wasn't in a hurry. Clint's reaction to any enema at all was so excruciating that the size of the bag was almost secondary. He'd started Clint small and worked up to this size, so as far as Clint was concerned, this was _the_ big bag. Bruce looked forward to proving that that was not the case some day.

He worked hard to keep the valves closed and the tubing untangled -- the more complicated it looked, the more desperate Clint would get -- and when the bag was full he slipped it over the hook in the wall, close enough for Clint to get a good look at it. Clint's stared, wide-eyed, as Bruce slid the enema nozzle in place at the end of the tube. He always looked at it like that, even though it was actually fairly slender, especially considering the kinds of things Bruce usually put in his ass.

Bruce turned the valve at the bag to push all the air out of the hose until water streamed easily from the tip of the nozzle, and then got down on his knees next to Clint. "No lube," he says. "You're already as slick as a whore. And up on your knees. You know the position."

Clint shifted slowly up to his knees and bent over them, elbows resting on the floor, ass up in the air. Bruce stroked his back once, and Clint shuddered into the touch needily. In the next motion, he slid the nozzle into place, pressing it quickly up into Clint's ass, and didn't wait for even a second before he turned the nozzle, admiring the definition of Clint's whole body as he froze at the invasion.

He didn’t want Clint to cramp up - that would bring things to an unpleasant end - so he kept the water rate fairly slow. But as it ran down the tube and into Clint steadily, Clint whimpered, his muscles tensing under Bruce’s hand. Bruce knew that with every bit of water, it was getting more and more uncomfortable for Clint, but that wasn’t what actually worked about this. It was the position, the intimacy, the fact that Bruce was taking control of such a basic thing, that worked for Clint.

At the halfway point, he kinked the hose a little, just enough to slow the flow to a trickle. “That’s half, whore,” he said, sounding deliberately cheerful. Clint made a choking sound, like he was trying not to say something, and Bruce paused to make sure that it wasn’t his safeword. When Clint didn’t say anything else, though, Bruce asked, “Ready for the rest?”

Bruce knew that Clint knew he wouldn’t let it go again until Clint checked in. He also knew that it actually made it _worse_ for Clint, because he had to tell Bruce that that was what he wanted. 

Clint took a shallow breath and let it out slowly before saying, “Yes, I’m - I’m ready.”

“Good slut,” Bruce said, releasing the tube so that the water could resume. He ran his hand down Clint’s back, using touch to reassure. Besides, he loved touching Clint when he was like this - shaking and whimpering and utterly out of his head.

Clint's abdomen was starting to become rounded with the pressure of the water, and Bruce slid his hand around to cup the slight bulge. Clint let out a choked, despairing little noise, and Bruce made a low comforting noise. "You're fine," he said. "When you're nice and full, you know how you'll look. All round and full and perfect." Clint shuddered against Bruce's hand, and Bruce knew that Clint was feeling the discomfort of the water pressure inside him in earnest now. Clint's body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and he was chewing helplessly at his lower lip.

"Take a look down," Bruce said, not at all a suggestion, and Clint didn't move an inch, flushed face pointed determinedly forward. Bruce caught hold of the hose near Clint's ass and nudged it firmly. "I can make it harder, if you can't obey simple instructions," Bruce threatened.

Clint let out another of those choked sounds -- Bruce knew he could get Clint all the way to tears, if he worked hard at it -- but he tipped his head down so that he was peering between his own arms at his belly, at the slowly swelling slope of his abdomen.

"Not so hard, was it?" Bruce asked, and stroked the curve of Clint's belly proprietorially. He pressed the tips of his fingers gently into the distended curve, and Clint groaned as Bruce kneaded his belly. "Another quarter of the bag," Bruce reminded him, and Clint hitched out a breath that was closer to a sob than anything. "You want it, Clint," Bruce murmured. "You want it this way. You want me to fill you up and clean you up so that I can use you however I want. Say it.”

Clint shook his head no, but when Bruce pressed a little more firmly on his stomach, Clint made a low whining sound and said, “God, yes, please. Get me clean. _Please_.”

“I don’t think you mean it,” Bruce said. “You’ve only got till the end of the bag to convince me, or I’ll plug you and leave you until you manage it.”

“I mean it,” Clint said, voice desperate. “I want to be clean enough for you to fuck, clean enough for you to _use_. I want it, want it all. _Please_ , Bruce. I mean it so much. Please, I want to be a good slut, a good whore. Tell me what you want to hear and I’ll say it. I’ll say anything to get you to believe me.”

When he ran out of words, his head hanging down as he panted heavily, Bruce rubbed a little around his navel and said, “I think I actually believe you.” He glanced at the bag and saw that there was only a little more to go. “When this is done and I’ve pulled the tube out, I want you to kneel up and hold it. Understand?”

Clint let out a low groan, but he was nodding, too, so Bruce let it go. Sometimes Clint would say anything, do anything, and sometimes he would hang up on just one thing. If it happened more than once in a scene, Bruce would usually push Clint further just to hear him break down, but Clint was being good.

Bruce checked the bag and found it almost empty; the tube was almost empty as well, and that was good enough for him. He caught the nozzle carefully where it was threaded into the tube and tugged. Clint groaned again, and Bruce paused, just to spend a moment stroking Clint calmer. “You’re being good,” he said in the kind of low, soothing voice that rarely made an appearance in their scenes. “I just want you to hold it for a little while.” He tugged at the nozzle. “Ready.”

Clint nodded, whining just a little, and then seemed to catch himself. “R-ready,” he stammered out, and Bruce watched his whole body go taut as he pulled the nozzle carefully out of Clint’s ass. Clint hissed and shifted a little, and Bruce stroked a hand down between Clint’s cheeks, feeling the tight pucker of his asshole as Clint clenched tight to hold the water inside.

It took a bit of effort for Clint to kneel up, but he managed after a moment. His movements were anything but graceful, and his expression was strained, but once he was settled, Bruce ran his hand through Clint’s hair as an unspoken reward. 

After another moment, Bruce slid his hand over Clint’s distended belly. “I like seeing you like this, slut. So hot and desperate for it, so _needy_ that you’ll let me do anything. I love the way you look, the way you’re curved out like you’re pregnant.” Clint gasped a little, face flushed dark, but he didn’t say a word. “You like it, don’t you? Like looking like I knocked you up?”

Clint’s face contorted as he tried to answer, and Bruce waited impatiently. Finally, Clint managed to say, “I like doing what you say.” It was an honest answer, if not the answer to the question Bruce had actually asked. Bruce prodded gently at Clint’s hole again, and Clint let out a tremulous little cry. 

“You like me making you take all this water inside you,” Bruce said, low and flat. “You like me to reshape you. Don’t lie to me. You know what happens if you lie.”

“I like it,” Clint whispered; his face was so red that light refracted from beads of sweat on his brow and temples, and his lips were bitten raw. Bruce cupped the round swell of Clint’s belly gently, just waiting now, and he didn’t have long to wait. Clint groaned and curled downward a little, trying to pull himself in around his belly, and Bruce smiled. Clint hated the cramping, and Bruce didn’t usually make him take too much of it, but there were reasons that Bruce sometimes did. 

Bruce slid a hand down Clint’s sweat-slick back, not trying to stop him from slouching over his full belly, and then dipped his other hand beneath Clint’s belly and caught a hold of Clint’s still-hard dick. Bruce wasn’t surprised. At first, Clint had always gone soft. Now he couldn’t have gone soft during an enema if his life depended on it. Behavioral modification was a beautiful thing.

Clint gasped in a helpless breath and Bruce could feel him shuddering. “Don’t let go,” he ordered harshly. “Not yet. No matter how good it feels.”

“Bruce, I...” Clint said raggedly, and Bruce squeezed Clint’s dick hard enough that whatever Clint had been going to say was choked off by a sound of pain. A moment later, he curled down further, groaning at the cramping.

“Are you ready?” Bruce asked, knowing the answer already, and Clint hiccuped in a short, pained sound and nodded frantically. Bruce tugged Clint toward the drain -- Clint let out another hoarse sound at that; he didn’t like the drain. The idea of Bruce watching the water and waste flow out of him made Clint recoil with humiliation. Most of the time, Bruce walked him awkwardly over toward the toilet, which Clint hated at least marginally less, but this was about Clint letting go, and Bruce could tell he had more letting go to do. Sometimes the toilet was enough; this time, it wasn’t. Not for Bruce, and not for Clint either, whether he knew it or not. 

It took a little time to get him positioned, and his hands were pulled out from his body by the cuffs, but by now Clint seemed hardly aware of the drain. He was cramping so hard that he was groaning almost constantly, and Bruce was sure this time would be one of those times when Clint lost control completely. Bruce was counting on it. He’d done a lot of things to Clint before, and would likely do a lot more things to him before they were done with each other, but there was one thing that Bruce wanted to do now, today, that he hadn’t yet done.

Once Clint was lined up properly, Bruce let go of him but didn’t move away, standing right next to him. “Okay, Clint. You can let it out now.” 

It took Clint a second to actually relax enough to start letting the water flow back out of him, but when it did, Clint let it go with a sound that was close to a sob. It flowed down the drain swiftly, and as it did, Clint lost control of his bladder as well, pissing a thin stream of yellow that ran across Bruce’s foot before it escaped down the drain.

Exactly what Bruce had expected. Clint frequently lost control of his bladder when they did this, and Bruce had deliberately stayed close enough so that it could hit him. Before he could say anything, though, Clint looked up at Bruce, panic and humiliation and lust washing across his face. “S-sorry,” he gasped out.

“I’m sure you are, slut,” Bruce said. “Did I tell you to piss? More importantly, did you think you could piss _on me_?”

“No,” Clint said. “No, you didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“You’ll have to be punished,” Bruce said, keeping his voice pleasant. A shudder ran through Clint at Bruce’s words, but he just nodded. “But first, I’m going to fuck you. If you come, the punishment will be that much worse.” He grabbed a handful of Clint’s hair and started dragging him away from the drain, closer to the wall where the chains led, leaving Clint to struggle along on his knees.

Normally Bruce would take Clint out of the shower to fuck him - no reason for _Bruce’s_ knees to hurt, after all - so Clint gave him a curious look when instead of unchaining him, Bruce pushed him down onto all fours. Bruce didn’t explain. He just grabbed a tube of lube off the rack and used the bare minimum to slick himself up.

When he positioned himself behind Clint and lined up, Clint’s muscles tightened under his hands, as if he was trying to prepare himself. Bruce didn’t warn him - he just started to push in, hard and fast.

Clint cried out, his head tossing, as Bruce pushed into his oversensitized hole. Bruce knew that feeling, the _pleasurepain_ of too much stimulation, too much too fast, and knew that Clint loved it. So he didn’t hold back at all, even as he pushed in deep and set up a fast rhythm.

Clint’s back arched beautifully, and he was hot inside, raw from all the water, but still responding like a wet dream, all shuddering motion and soft, grating sounds of pleasure twisted with pain. Bruce didn’t even have to encourage him into movement; after only a few thrusts, Clint was pushing back onto Bruce dick, small sounds twisting up into louder cries, the kind of noises that always made Bruce’s nuts tighten with pleasure.

“Can’t help it, can you?” Bruce breathed out roughly. “Can’t get enough, you love it so much. Doesn’t even matter to you that you’re raw, just as long as I’m ramming my dick into you.”

“Please, I...” Clint babbled out. “I love it, I need it. It feels like you’re tearing me up inside.”

Bruce’s hips jerked beyond his control at that -- he wasn’t sure anyone had ever said anything that turned his on as much -- and he gripped Clint’s hips and twisted his own, screwing into Clint roughly, with as much force as he could muster up. Clint shouted out a garbled sound of pain but rocked back, the rattle of the chains a perfect counterpoint to the rhythm in which Bruce was using him.

“Tearing you up, using you like you need it,” Bruce snarled. “Say it,” he demanded.

“Do it, use me, I need it,” Clint grated out from between harsh cries. “Bruce, as hard as you can, I’ll let you do anything, you can do anything you want.”

Bruce exhaled harshly, his dick a throbbing weight, and he could’ve come, but held off, giving Clint more, making it all the more real for Clint, because that was what it was about for Clint; making it so real that he could keep feeling it later, hours later, or days, depending on what they were doing, and Bruce wouldn’t deny that he used Clint for his own pleasure without remorse, but Clint let himself be used for reasons of his own, reasons Bruce always tried to accommodate. 

Clint was pushing back hard, using his own body to get more out of Bruce. Bruce was more than happy to give Clint what he wanted, what he needed, and fucked into him as hard as he could, his hands tight enough on Clint’s hips to leave bruises. “God, you’re a good fucktoy,” he groaned out. “I’m going to come - fill you up with it. You ready for it?”

Clint’s voice was a choked wreck, “Anything, Bruce, anything. Give it to me.” Then, “I need to come, please, Bruce, can I...”

Bruce slapped the side of Clint’s hip stingingly. “If you even think about it, you will still be regretting it this time next week, Clint,” he snapped.

Clint groaned, but clearly believed Bruce; he panted helplessly, his ass clenching and his body shuddering as Bruce pounded into him furiously. He could’ve come more quickly, but the sight and sound of Clint fighting back his orgasm was enough to make Bruce feel a little cruel -- or a little _more_ cruel than usual, anyway -- and he drew it out for several minutes, until Clint was letting our hoarse little cries of effort that made Bruce’s cock spasm in warning. Bruce let go of a little of his control, just enough to let his orgasm wash over him. Pleasure tore through him, turning him inside out and making him roar with it. 

As soon as he could do anything besides kneel there and come, Bruce pulled out, climbing to his feet, ignoring the way that Clint whimpered in delicious desperation. “Kneel up,” he ordered.

“Please, Bruce,” Clint said as he obeyed. “Please...”

“Jerk off, but don’t come yet,” Bruce said, moving to stand next to him. “Come on, slut, get your hand down there and jerk that dick.”

At the first touch of his hand to his dick, Clint whimpered again, and his motions were slow at first, as if he was so close that he was afraid that he was going to come with or without permission. 

“You close, whore?” Bruce asked. “You ready to give it up?”

“Yes,” Clint said, his hand starting to move a little faster. 

“I’m going to punish you now for pissing on me,” Bruce said, letting his voice get a little deeper, a little more threatening. “If you can come while I do it, then you can come. Otherwise, you don’t get to come at all. Understand?”

Clint nodded, his face flushed again, but his hand a little more confident on his dick. Bruce took his own dick in his hand and said, “Keep your head down.”

Clint threw a quick glance a Bruce, his eyes widening, but before Bruce objected, he was loosening his neck, letting his head hang down. Bruce had only seen his face for a second, but it was enough to make him sure. Clint would come. Clint would be done in an instant.

He paused, watching Clint slow his hand on his dick again, clearly trying to hold off, and then he stepped close, so close that his foot brushed Clint’s hip. “This is what you’re for,” Bruce said, low and steely. “For me to use however I want to.”

“Yes,” Clint breathed, and Bruce let go, shuddering a little himself as the stream of his urine splashed against the golden skin of Clint’s back. Clint choked out a little cry, but his hand was moving on his dick so quickly that it was practically invisible as Bruce directed his stream down to Clint’s ass, watching it run down Clint’s balls in rivulets. 

“God, God, Bruce,” Clint groaned, and stiffened abruptly. Bruce directed his stream upward, making sure to soak Clint’s hair, and was at least a little surprised when Clint tipped his face up slightly so that Bruce’s piss splashed across his cheeks, lips and chin. Clint groaned a little, and Bruce heard himself let out a little hiss of possessessive pleasure, heat kindling in his belly again at the sight of Clint coming, hunching a little over as Bruce’s piss dripped from the line of his jaw. Clint wavered on his knees, his hands leaving his lap to scrabble at the tile floor, and then he folded easily over onto his side, his face dazed and almost blank, both a position and an expression that Bruce was familiar with. Clint, completely done in, completely stripped open, completely absorbed in his subspace.

He knew that Clint wouldn’t want words for a little while, so ignoring the hard tile floor, Bruce sank easily to the floor, sitting next to him cross-legged, his hand on Clint’s hip. He slowed his breathing, letting himself really feel the lightness that he always got from topping like this. 

They stayed like that until Clint started to stir under Bruce’s hand, the cold floor finally penetrating his headspace enough to make him uncomfortable. “You ready to move?” Bruce asked, keeping his voice soft. “If you are, we need to shower before we go lie down.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I think I can, but holy fuck, that was intense.”

“Intense in a good way, I hope,” Bruce said as he helped Clint sit up and lean against him. 

“In a ‘Christ, that was amazing,’ kind of way,” Clint said. Together they climbed to their feet, and Bruce undid the cuffs quickly before propping Clint against the wall. Once the water was running at a good temperature, the two of them got under it, and started to clean up.

Bruce kept touching Clint; small, reassuring brushes of his hand that were nothing more than a reminder that he was there if Clint needed him. Once they were both clean and dry, they moved back out to the main room and headed towards the bed.

It took effort by both of them to get Clint lying down, and once he was comfortable, Bruce wrapped himself around Clint’s back. Clint was larger than Bruce, by quite a bit, but times like these Bruce liked to feel like he could shelter Clint as he took the time to get his head back together.

Bruce ran his hand down Clint’s side over and over again as Clint went boneless and heavy in his arms, the last of his tension draining away. Bruce loved everything they did together, but this was probably his favorite part, knowing that his actions helped Clint relax in a way that nothing else did. 

As he held Clint close, Bruce was already planning the next time.


End file.
